Random Encounter with the Hooligan
I had just finished having dinner with some friends and was leaving the restaurant, when I heard a commotion going on down a nearby alley. Forgetting all common sense, I instead followed my curiosity and followed the noise into the dark. Walking around the corner I see a somewhat familiar sight. Littering the ground are several brutal beaten and probably dead men and standing tall above all them is patient #853. I had never seen the man out of the asylum, in his element. When I read the reports of his vigilante exploits I had always envisioned him dressed as some comic book hero, but the truth is far more imposing. There he stood in combat boots, black military style pants, Kevlar chest armor, a massive over coat, a pair of work gloves one of which is holding a length of pipe dripping with blood and covered in gore, and last a black and featureless mask made of ballistic resistant materials. He didn't look like a superhero, he looked like what he was...untimely death, personified. “Fancy meeting you here, Doc,” patient #853 addressed me. “Um...hello, Hooligan,” I answer back, more than a little bit nervous. “Should I be afraid?” The violent murderer considered the question for a moment. “No,” he finally answered. “Killing you would just be rude, given the circumstances.” “That is good to hear. When did Wickman let you out?” I asked him. “Yesterday,” patient #853 answered. “I'll probably be back in my cell by Monday, depending on how many worthy victims I find.” “That does raise a question I have been curious about,” I said, getting his attention. “How do you pick your...targets?” “I kill the evil, the corrupt, the criminal, the...bad?” he answered, with a shrug. “Yes yes, I know that. What I wanted to know is how you know those you've targeted fall under those parameters?” I ask. “I've looked over the backgrounds of all of your victims, and as far as I can see, you're never wrong.” Before he could answer the late night stillness is broken the explosive bang of a gunshot. I darted back around the corner then cautiously looked back around to see one of the Hooligan's badly beaten foes firing a handgun into the superhuman. The massive mental patient slowly turned to man and waited as the poor fool continued to uselessly empty the weapon into his unmoving form. That done the man tried throwing the pistol, but it went nowhere near #853 before it clattered to the ground. “To tell you the truth, Doc, they are normally not that hard to find,” the Hooligan explained as he slowly made his way to now disarmed and weeping man. I believe he uttered some sort of curse at the vigilante until he was silenced by a swift downward blow from the pipe. Being thorough, he then continued with five more blows each ending with a sickening thud, until the man's skull is nothing more than a mess of bloody gore on the ground. “You know though, I do have a certain...sense that helps me find someone to beat down,” the Hooligan continued explaining as he turned back to me, as if he hadn't just paused to murder someone. “Its not like a smell, or a feeling, or anything that matches the normal senses...I just know when someone is meant for me.” “Fascinating,” I admitted. “I'll add that to my notes.” “You do that, Dr. Keen,” he told me as he turned again and began walking away. “I'll see you at the office.” “Yes, I'll see you there Michael Doe,” I called to him. That made him stop, look over his shoulder at me, and ask, “Michael Doe?” “Yes,” I answer, a bit embarrassed. “We have so many John and Jane Does at Hillbrook, that I decide to change up the names a bit. So...I named you Michael.” Then, patient #853 laughed. “You're a character, Doc!” he told me, before walking away. Category:Tales Category:Dr.Keen